


Carry On Countdown 2017

by andonewillbringhisfall



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andonewillbringhisfall/pseuds/andonewillbringhisfall
Summary: Instead of writing oneshots for Carry On Countdown this year, I’m writing an ongoing chaptered fic, where I incorporate as many of the prompts as I can into a single fic.Summary: Simon and Baz start messaging each other online, neither of them knowing who the other is.





	1. Day 2. Social media

**Author's Note:**

> HEY so instead of writing oneshots for Carry On Countdown (@carryon-countdown on Tumblr, if you're not familiar with it) this year, I’m writing an ongoing chaptered fic, where I incorporate as many of the prompts as I can into a single fic. There won’t be regular updates; I’ll just be posting whenever a prompt comes up that I was able to fit into my storyline. Chapters will vary a lot in length. Hopefully this doesn’t turn into a total mess...

SIMON

I can tell that everyone’s watching me.

There’s Rhys, head turned, looking worried. Agatha, who’s wincing and leaning back, even though nothing’s exploded yet. Dev and Niall, exchanging glances and snickering. Even Penny, the only one not looking at me like I’m definitely about to fuck this up. And Baz, of course, his lip curled, his eyes gleaming.

I take a deep breath and point my wand at the pot on the table in front of me. I try to keep my arm steady, like I’ve been taught all these years. I picture my magic like fire mixing with my blood and I imagine it all rushing into my arm, into the spell.

‘ **Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble!** ’

Nothing explodes. Nothing catches fire or turns to ash. I guess it’s an improvement on last year’s mid-semester Elocution test. Bubbles appear in the pot and steam rushes towards my face, but that’s all. Even a first year could heat a pot of water. Agatha looks relieved. So does most of the class. Penny has a sympathetic look on her face, and I hear her voice in my head tsk-ing at me and telling me I just need to try again. Keep practicing. Dev and Niall look disappointed. Baz’s face is stone.

I go back to my seat. That went better than I thought it would.

‘Congratulations,’ says Baz over his shoulder. ‘The Chosen One can’t cast Shakespeare, but at least you didn’t destroy anything.’

I look at him. I count to three in my head. I take three deep breaths. Just like T – my online friend – taught me.

_Next time he gives you a hard time, I’ll fight him for you._

I almost smile.

_I mean it. Magic wands and curses and the lot._

I’ve been messaging T for about three months now. I don’t even know his real name, and he just knows me as S. He’s probably a Normal, and he has no idea what kind of school I go to, but he knows that I struggle and that I have a git of a roommate. He doesn’t know about spells and vampires and evil magic-sucking monsters. But most importantly, he doesn’t know that I’m the Chosen One. He doesn’t expect me to save the world. He doesn’t care how badly I fuck up.

He told me to take deep breaths, count to three, and think about him whenever I get upset. He told me to remember that the opinions that matter aren’t those of the people who don’t care about me.

He told me that _he_ cares about me.

So I stare back at Baz, and I smile.

 

BAZ

Snow smiles, and I look away.

I shouldn’t even have said anything. We’ve barely talked for weeks now. (Not that we talk; we argue.) We’ve both always avoided the room as much as we could, but now it seems like he’s never there. He doesn’t even bother going to watch my football games anymore, which shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I don’t know where – or with whom – he spends his time.

I don’t think about him when he’s gone. I really don’t.

I talk to S instead.

S: hey. had a shitty day. talk to me

_T: Hi. What happened? If it’s any consolation, I had a pretty shitty day too._

S: just that i suck at everything. 

_T: I’m sorry you had a shitty day. You don’t suck at everything. You must have some talent._

_T: You have a talent for never using any capitalisation, for starters._

S: i forgot that you’re a genius at everything and can’t relate

S: so why was your day shitty?

_T: Oh, you know, just normal teenage angst. Family drama, evil head of school, unrequited love. The usual._

S: that sucks

S: though i hope you’re joking about the unrequited love

S: here i was thinking we had something

_T: I can’t tell if you mean that._

S: i do

 

SIMON

I’m in the library. Penny probably thinks I’m studying. She’s not even studying; she’s looking up information about some magickal conspiracy in South America. It has nothing to do with any of our classes.

I keep checking my email and waiting for T to reply, but he hasn’t yet. I know it could never work out. We probably don’t live anywhere near each other. I couldn’t leave Watford even just to meet him even if I wanted to, not without approval from the Mage, and when I’m so far behind at school anyway. Then there’s the fact that I’m supposed to save the entire World of Mages that T probably doesn’t even know exists, unless he’s also a mage by some miracle. And even then, if he ever knew me in real life, he’d realise that I’m a total mess.

So I don’t really know why I said it. Maybe because it’s true. This thing we have can never really be _something_ , but it means something to me.

_T: Good._

_T: I talk to you because I feel like you really know me, even though you don’t know anything about me._

_T: I talk to you because you don’t expect anything from me, and I don’t get that a lot in my life._

_T: I talk to you because I feel like you trust me and you like talking to me._

_T: And that means a lot to me._

_T: I just wanted to say that._

Penny’s watching me with her eyes narrowed. I try not to smile too much.

S: I feel the exact same way.

 

BAZ

It’s not that I’m lying to him. Exactly.

It’s just that maybe the biggest reason I talk to him, and the one I don’t like to think about, is that he reminds me of Snow.

In a world where Snow doesn’t hate me. One where I never tried to hurt him. One where he could fall for me.

And it’s so easy to pretend when he won’t tell me his name.


	2. Day 4. Rainy day

BAZ

The rain pours down our window in sheets, blurring the view of the Wood behind it. I’m not woken by the rain; I’m woken by Snow, clattering around the room and making no effort to be quiet, even though it’s an unreasonable hour of the morning. I watch him struggle with his tie, mouth hanging open, brow wrinkled with the effort.

He strides across the room and opens his laptop, his tie only half-done and still very crooked. Knowing him, he’ll forget to fix it and walk down to breakfast like that. I want to walk up behind him, and tug on the end to fix it. And then tug him towards me.

I sigh quietly and roll over to face the wall. I won’t think about Snow; I’ll think about S. But now I can hear Snow typing at his laptop, and I picture him biting his lip as he hesitates, piercing blue eyes fixed on the screen. Is that what S looks like when he’s writing to me? Does he wake up and check my messages first thing every morning? (I know he does.) (Sometimes I write to him when I can’t sleep, when Snow’s already in bed. S says he always goes to bed early, so he never responds late at night.)

There’s a snap as Snow shuts his laptop. He takes it with him when he leaves the room, even though I know he’s only going to breakfast.

I sit up and eye the computer sitting at my desk.

It’s so easy to pretend.

 

SIMON

_T: There’s something I want to ask you._

_T: I hope it’s not weird, and I’ll completely understand if you say no._

_T: Could I see a photo of your face? I just want to know what you look like, who to picture when I’m talking to you._

S: would i get to see your face too

_T: If you like. I’ll try not to look either depressed or undead just for your sake._

_T: (Spoiler alert: I’m both.)_

 

‘Simon, no.’

‘Why not?’

‘You don’t know who he is!’

It’s still raining hard outside, and Penny and I and most of the school is huddled in the warmth of the library. Penny’s got her hands on her hips and her exasperated face on. (She gives me that look a lot.)

‘Well, no,’ I say. ‘But I will after we exchange photos.’

‘Don’t you know anything about internet safety? Didn’t they teach you about serial killers and creepy old guys who pretend to be teenagers? Catfishers?’

‘Not exactly,’ I say.

‘Right, sorry,’ Pen says. ‘The point still stands. What if he’s an axe murderer just looking to figure out who you are and gruesomely slaughter you?’

I shrug. ‘Then he probably still wouldn’t make the top ten scariest things that are out to get me.’

Penny drops her defiant stance, sinking back into her armchair. ‘Good point.’

‘Yeah.’ This might be the first time I’ve been right about something over Penny.

‘Still,’ she says. ‘Be careful. He might not murder you, but he could still break your heart.’ She gives me a knowing look.

I cough. ‘It’s not like… that.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Maybe a little,’ I say, turning red. ‘I like him, okay? I know he could never… want to be with me. In real life. I just like talking to him.’

‘Tell him I’ll turn him into a toad if he’s not who he says he is.’

‘Wouldn’t you have to kiss him to turn him back?’

‘Who said anything about turning him back?’

 

BAZ

S: okay, sending. we’re not allowed phones so i took this on my computer. sorry if it’s awful

I get the message while we’re in our room. I snatch up my laptop and leave as quickly as I can, in case Snow comes back. My footsteps hurrying down the stairs echo the sound of the rain pattering on the roof. I pause at the entrance to Mummers House to consider my options. I can’t go to the Catacombs, because I have to send a photo back, and because I don’t want to associate S’s face with the place where I lurk and hunt rats at night. I can’t go to the crowded library, either. Instead, I walk out in the rain.

I cast **rain, rain, go away** and walk across the Great Lawn. I stop just outside the Wood, spell dry a spot of grass, and I sit with my laptop balancing on my knees.

My heart thumps. I open the file.

I drop my wand, and the rain cascades down on my head. I’m soaked within seconds.

 

SIMON

I expect him to respond as soon as he gets the photo, but there’s nothing. I can’t tell if he’s online or not.

‘Did you do it? Can I see him?’ Penny asks.

‘He hasn’t written back,’ I say.

The longer I stare at the photo, the worse it looks. The lighting is bad. I look nervous. But I’m smiling, tentatively, just for him.

He doesn’t respond until nightfall.

_T: I don’t think we should talk to each other anymore._

Just then, the rain stops.


	3. Day 6. Angst day

SIMON

S: what the fuck?

S: what do you mean?

S: because of what i look like??

S: are you serious?

No reply.

S: what the fuck?

I pace around the room. Baz isn’t back yet, so I pace across his side of the room too.

I go back to my laptop, fingers poised over the keys, but nothing else comes into my head except _what the fuck_. And I’ve already asked that twice. I go back to pacing.

There has to be some explanation. The one person who cares about me and understands me, in spite of everything, who didn’t need to know everything to know that he liked me – he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just stop talking to me because of this.

Unless he was just pretending to care.

Or there’s something wrong with me and now that I’m not just a faceless idea behind a computer, he’s realised it.

Or maybe there’s some other explanation.

S: T?? are you still there? what do you mean?

 

BAZ

I wound up in the Catacombs after all. I’ve left dead rats in my wake and now I’m sitting with my back against the wall, hugging my laptop, head bowed. (There’s a dent from when I chucked it at the wall. **As you were** only halfway fixed it.)

Of course S would turn out to actually be Snow. Of course I couldn’t have this one thing, this one good, true thing, in my life that wouldn’t come right back to him. Of course S couldn’t actually be some nice, charming, ordinary teenage boy who could actually like me for me.

_Fuck_. Why? Of all the teenage boys in Britain whose first name starts with S, who can’t keep up at school, why him?

I throw my laptop again. It lands on the ground with a crash. There’s a _plink_ as something small rolls away.

‘ **As you were** ,’ I cast again.

_What do you mean?_ Snow is asking.

I sigh. Even at the lowest brightness, the glare from the laptop screen hurts my eyes in the pitch black of the Catacombs. I don’t bother to get up.

_T: I just don’t think I’m the person you want me to be._

Fuck. What would he say if he knew? He liked me. I know he did; he even said so. He thought T was someone normal, not a vampire, not a fuck-up, someone he could have on his side. I can never be that person. Snow would never want me.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ I say into the darkness. ‘I didn’t mean to trick you.’

And, ‘I meant all of it.’

 

SIMON

S: is that some ‘it’s not you it’s me’ line

S: because i’m the one who just showed you something personal about me so i’m not buying it

S: T

S: please just tell me what’s going on

He doesn’t write back again. It’s late, much later than I’d normally go to bed. Baz still isn’t back, and for once I’m glad. (Not that I’m not always glad when Baz is gone. It’s just that I normally worry about what he’s up to.) (I don’t want him to see me like this. He’d tell me T was right to get out while he can. He’d list all the things that are wrong with me.) I keep refreshing my messages, and checking that my connection is still working, and pacing.

S: look if you don’t like me you can just say so

S: T what the fuck

S: don’t you think you owe me a better explanation than that

S: you were the one who asked to see my face

 

BAZ

It gets later. He keeps getting more upset.

S: did i do something wrong?

I close my eyes. I picture him pacing around our room, with no fucking clue why I’ve stopped talking to him, his magic blowing up so the whole room is filled with it.

I should have known. Somehow. I shouldn’t have let this go on for so many months.

 

S: T

S: where are you

S: sdfghjklkjhgfdfghjhhdfshjhdf,.y/irewthrdkfgh.ilhggyueyrkt,,ihgfdtytkuyrugkgfgrssydktf

S: sjhf;shg;slkhfgkjshgfiurhiguhsjkdhg;wlrbg;ouw;gbuorwhjf;vb

S: i’m seriously just gonna keep spamming you until you tell me what your problem is

S: sklhfsjdhg

S: sjfgho

S: okay

S: okay i’ll leave you alone

S: i’m sorry

S: it’s just

S: i don’t know

S: i thought this meant something

S: or just

S: that you cared

_T: STOP_

_T: Simon_

_T: I’m sorry._

_T: I can’t talk to you anymore. I’m sorry._

 

He goes quiet. I picture him sitting at his bed, or the desk, or pacing around the room. He’s probably opened the window.

He must hate me now. Both versions of me. (I keep hurting him. I understand.)

I stand up suddenly, snatching my laptop off the ground.

He can’t find out that it’s me. It’s Snow, and he’s slow even on a good day, so I don’t imagine his chances of putting two and two together are very high. Still, I hurry out of the Catacombs and back towards Mummers House.

He’s still at his desk when I get to the room, eyes trained on his computer. My throat closes over. The blue light of the screen paints his curls dark copper, shadows climbing around him. The room smells like smoke.

He doesn’t even react when I walk in, which is unusual. Normally he’d turn his head, scanning me quickly for evidence of… I don’t know. Blood, maybe. He’d usually flinch, at least, when the door opens, but now he’s as still as a statue, focused on his screen.

I can’t help it. I go to the bathroom to change and get ready for bed, but instead of going to sleep straight away, I check my messages one more time.

S: why did you call me simon???

S: i never told you my name


	4. Day 9. Flowers

BAZ

S: you know me don’t you? that’s why you freaked out

I only see it in the morning, though according to the time stamp he sent it only about half an hour after his last message. It’s hard to tell if it took him that long to figure it out (he’s thick, but I don’t think he’s that thick) or if he was waiting for me to say something. I remember hearing him typing last night, even though for once it seemed like he was trying to be quiet. I could still see the glare of his screen behind my closed eyelids. On any other night, I would have growled at him to turn the light out. If he thought it was strange that I didn’t, he didn’t say so.

Now he’s probably offloading to Bunce, hoping she’ll figure the whole thing out for him. I snap my laptop shut and walk down to breakfast. She wouldn’t guess it was me, surely. What would be the chances? (I have to act normal, just in case. It’s the only reason I’m going to breakfast at all.)

Snow is at his usual table, but instead of Bunce, his laptop is on the seat beside him. I try not to look over at him, but when I do, I catch him opening it and sneaking glances. His face falls (visibly, even from a few tables away) every time as he closes it again, seeing no new message from T. (From me.)

I stop looking over at him.

 

SIMON

‘So you think he goes to Watford?’ Penny asks me across the table.

‘He has to,’ I say. My fingers twitch towards the computer. ‘That’s the only way he could know my name.’

‘He couldn’t know you from before? From a home?’

I shrug. ‘I guess. He wouldn’t have remembered me.’

‘So it’s someone we know,’ she says thoughtfully.

‘Yeah.’

‘Or it’s someone who knows about you, but we might not know them back.’

‘Right.’

‘And you really like this guy.’

‘Yes.’

I look around the dining hall. It’s packed for breakfast, students still wandering in with stacks of books or with their friends, constant loud chatter around me. I look at as many faces as I can take in (I really don’t know many people’s names, even after seven years). T could be right here. He could be metres away. He could be watching me right now, knowing that I’m looking for him.

‘I wonder if there’s a spell…’ Penny says. ‘A tracking spell, of sorts.’

I look at her hopefully.

‘It probably wouldn’t work if he doesn’t want to be found,’ she says.

‘Oh.’

‘Simon…’ she says, leaning forward. ‘If he doesn’t want you to know who he is, maybe you have to respect that.’

I shrug again. ‘Maybe.’ She’s probably right. Now I know that he knows who I am, and it’s not just my picture that put him off, T doesn’t owe me an explanation. If the Chosen One business is too much for him – if the dragon slaying and the explosive magic and the fact that I can’t cast basic spells and nobody knows where I came from – if it’s all too much I’d understand.

I’m not who he thought I was. I’m a mess, and not the artful kind he might have imagined.

But he told me once that if I’m a mess, then he’s a catastrophe. I can’t let him go yet.

 

S: you go to watford don’t you?

S: look you know the masquerade ball next weekend?

S: i’d really like you to go with me

S: i know for whatever reason u don’t want me to know who u are

S: but i really like you and if you’re from watford then i’d like to meet you

S: of course it’s completely up to you and i would understand if you don’t

S: but i really hope you’ll give me a chance

 

BAZ

I don’t reply. I’d love nothing more than to dance with Snow at the masquerade ball. He probably can’t dance, and I’m no expert, but we’d hold on to each other and I’d stare at his lips the whole time and he’d let me touch his face without knuckles and fists and angry words. He wouldn’t take his eyes off me all night and he’d say that he could never hate me –

But none of that would happen. If Snow ever found out T was me, he’d think I planned the whole thing just to fuck with him. He’d think it was another one of my grand plots to take him down. (Unless I could explain to him… use the fact that I stopped talking to him when I realised who he is as proof… but it doesn’t change the fact that he hates me.)

So of course I won’t go to the ball with him. I should tell him so, but every time I message him I feel vulnerable, like he can somehow see through his screen to me. He already knows things about me that he could use against me, like how my father expects me to be everything I’m not, and how I don’t feel like I have a future. And I’ve hinted more than once that I’m in love with my roommate.

He can never, ever find out it was me.

I open the door to our room the night before the ball and find it filled with flowers. Mostly roses, of all different colours, climbing over the desks and chairs and growing through the crack between the bathroom door and the floor. They’re mostly contained on Snow’s side of the room, but a few of them creep across to my bed.

The smell of them hits me all at once, sickeningly sweet. And in the middle of it all is Snow, his wand out, mouth hanging open.

‘What the fuck have you done?’ I say.

‘I was trying… to…’

I sneer. ‘What? Prepare for a romantic evening?’

Fuck. I’m just taking the piss – obviously it’s a spell gone wrong, nothing else – but I can’t be here right now. I step back towards the door.

‘No,’ he stammers, his face red to match the darkest of the roses. My gaze catches on a pale pink petal caught in his hair. (I really can’t be here.)

‘Was this meant to be for the ball?’ I ask. I take two more hurried steps back as it dawns on me. They’re for me. Except he’ll be standing there carrying a bouquet for someone who’s never going to show up.

‘Just shut up,’ he says. ‘If you’re not going to help, just shut up.’

‘What do you want me to do, exactly?’

‘I just – I was trying for a few flowers. That’s all.’

I pull my wand out of my sleeve. ‘I’m only helping you because it smells too awful to sleep here,’ I say. ‘ **As you were**.’ All the flowers shrivel and disappear.

‘I didn’t mean get rid of all of them,’ Snow says, glaring at me.

‘I know,’ I say simply. I’m not sure I can talk to him anymore and keep my voice cold. I wasn’t going to leave him with a bouquet and be forced to look at him holding flowers that were meant for me. Except not for me.

Snow growls. ‘I should have known better than to expect you to help.’

‘You should always know better than to expect anything from me,’ I say softly. Then I go to bed and turn my back to him.

 

S: i’ll be there until midnight

S: i don’t care if you wear a mask. please show up for me


	5. Day 10. Song inspired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I chose for today's prompt is Dancing With Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift. As a whole I don’t think of it as a snowbaz song, but I chose it because of the lyric ‘I’m a mess but I’m the mess that you wanted’, which is perfect for this fic. (And snowbaz in general tbh.) Lines in italics are lyrics from the bridge of the song.
> 
> Sorry if anyone got a notification just for this tiny lil thing ^.^

BAZ

_I’d kiss you as the lights went out_

The lights are dim. The room is packed with students in formal dress. Almost everyone is masked, with magic, so it’s impossible to recognise anyone underneath their eye masks. Snow is at the edge of the dance floor, not wearing a mask, hands clasped in front of him.

_Swaying as the room burned down_

I picture it – walking up to him, taking him in my arms, his blue eyes so close to mine. Finally.

_I’d hold you as the water rushes in…_

I make my way slowly over to him. His eyes travel around the room, searching.


	6. Day 14. Fairytale retelling

SIMON

I know it’s him as soon as I see him. He’s wearing an eye mask, dark blue like the night sky, and it’s magicked so that I can’t recognise his face underneath the mask, even if he’s someone I should know. He’s walking slowly towards me, steps hesitant like he’s thinking of turning around and bolting. I try to take everything in at once. He’s taller than me, his suit – dark blue like the mask – fits him perfectly. It’s much nicer than mine. He has dark hair, the only thing I can tell underneath the magic of the mask, but I’m guessing that’s real.

He stops in front of me, hands by his sides.

‘You’re here,’ I exhale, when his eyes meet mine. I can’t tell what they look like, either. I want to tell him he shouldn’t have masked them, because I don’t look at people’s eyes all that closely. (I would now, if I could.) It’s like they’re hidden behind grey storm clouds, and I get a strong sense of having thought that before as soon as it crosses my mind, but then he steps closer again and I forget everything.

‘Simon,’ he says – softly, like he’s scared to even say my name – and my heart beats faster. I know I’ve heard that voice before, but whatever spell is stopping me from recognising his face is doing the same thing to his voice, because my brain refuses to tell me who he is.

‘T,’ I say back. ‘I mean – I don’t know your name.’ I turn red. ‘I wish I knew your name.’

He shakes his head. ‘You don’t.’

The music fades to something slower, an old song I don’t recognise. I can tell by his face – even without really seeing his face – that he does know it.

‘Why not?’ I ask. I step closer to him, and he does the same, his fingers lightly resting on my waist.

‘Please don’t get your hopes up,’ he says.

‘Too late.’ I wind my arms around his neck. He can probably feel my heart beating against his chest.

‘Don’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you don’t know who I am.’

We’re not really dancing, just swaying a little to the music, almost without needing to move our feet. He feels so _real_ in my arms.

‘Of course I know who you are,’ I say. ‘Wasn’t that the whole reason we kept talking to each other?’

 

BAZ

I don’t say anything. I want to believe he’s right. I was always honest with him when I was T, I just never told him everything. About the magic, about the exact nature of my family’s expectations, about him. But if he thinks he understood me, that he saw something in me, then it was me. It was real.

I hold him closer. I know this is never going to happen again. I know I shouldn’t have done this at all and gotten his hopes up like this.

‘Can we just dance?’ I ask him. ‘Just for tonight.’

‘Okay.’ His curls brush my cheek. (He smells like smoke and magic and impossible things.)

The song changes to a fast one. Neither of us moves. He pulls out a rose – I don’t know from where – and pins it onto my jacket, hands fumbling only a little with the pin.

I wonder if I should tell him that I’ve been hopelessly in love with him for years.

(Obviously not.) (I want to tell him anyway.)

We stand there holding each other for the next four songs, and I never want to move. I never want to take this mask off. I want to keep living in this alternate reality where I’m someone who’s good for Snow, who makes him feel better on his bad days. Where I can pretend I’m not his enemy, and the thought never even crosses his mind.

After the fourth song, the clock strikes midnight. Traditionally, this is when the masks come off. I don’t realise what he’s doing until I feel his fingertips on my cheeks.

‘You’re cold,’ he murmurs.

He cups my face in his hands, staring intently at me, like he’s trying to see through the mask (or the magic). He looks like he’s about to kiss me, and I’d think he was, if he wasn’t touching the bottom of the mask.

I’d rather he kissed me, just once, so I’d know what it feels like, so I could kiss him the way he deserves to be kissed (like he’s everything I’ve ever wanted), so I could show him how sorry I am. And then I’d leave and this would stay a perfect fantasy in both of our minds and I wouldn’t ever have to ruin it by showing him that underneath the mask is his arch-nemesis, the one who’s done everything possible to make him miserable for the last seven years.

When I don’t move (I’m frozen – I don’t want to let him go), he starts to lift up the mask.

 

SIMON

All the noise around us has faded to nothing and all I can see is the grey in his eyes, and as I start to push up the mask I can suddenly see them clearly. I can almost see _him_ , but then he steps back with a gasp and the mask falls back into place and he turns and rushes away from me. I try to follow him through the crowd, wanting to call his name but not knowing what name to call, but I see a flash of midnight blue in front of me and by the time I get to the edge of the crowd, he’s gone. There’s a rose on the ground, right in front of the door, and I stoop to pick it up.

 

BAZ

I tear the rose off my jacket and drop it on the ground. Part of me hopes he’ll find it, because I’m a hopeless romantic idiot. Mostly I’m just trying to make sure there’ll be no trace of it in the Catacombs, or in our room, or anywhere else he’ll realise it was me.

 

SIMON

Penny finds me by the door still staring at the flower.

I don’t know what to do. He’s not going to meet me again or give this another chance; I know it. He said he just wanted one night. He’s scared of something, and now I know it’s not about me. It’s about him, but whatever it is about him that he thinks I don’t want, he’s wrong. I know what it’s like, thinking I’m too much of a mess, but he came for me anyway.

I know him, and I like him. Now I just have to find him.

‘Did you find out who he is?’ Penny asks.

‘No,’ I say. ‘He ran off. Can’t we – can’t we find him? Somehow?’

She eyes the flower in my hands. ‘Is that from him?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘He dropped it.’

‘At midnight?’

‘I – yes,’ I say. ‘Almost exactly.’

‘Perfect,’ she says. ‘Take out your wand.’

‘Me?’

‘Of course you.’

My skin prickles with magic, like it knows I need it. But I don’t need _my_ magic – I need anyone who can actually cast a spell. This is too important to botch up.

‘Why can’t you do it?’

‘It’ll only work for you,’ Penny says patiently. ‘You’re the one looking for him. You’re the one wishing for him. It’s in the spell.’

‘Okay,’ I say. I pull out my wand and point it at the flower. I take three deep breaths. (Just like he told me.)

‘If you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true,’ Penny says. ‘But you have to mean it. You have to believe.’

I close my eyes. I remember the feel of his hands on my waist. I remember his grey eyes. I remember how he held me close and asked me to dance with him, and I know that he wants the same thing I want. (Because we’re both messes and we match.)

‘ **If you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true**.’

The flower starts glowing, almost silver. It looks like it’s made of diamond. _Or glass_ , I realise. (Like a glass slipper.)

A tiny silver pinprick of light appears in front of us.

‘You did it!’ Penny cries. ‘See? I knew it. Now we just have to follow the stars.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Fairy tale spells are so sappy.’

I step towards the first star, and another one appears behind it. Heart racing, I walk faster, and then I break out into a run, across the courtyard, down a pathway, through the second courtyard, and to the door of Mummers House. (Of course. Where else would he be?) The lights take me up the staircase, winding around and around, climbing higher and higher. I wait for it to stop at someone’s door, ready to knock and find T behind it, but the lights keep going until there’s only one door left, the one at the very top of the turret.

Mine and Baz’s room.

I slow down as I climb the last few steps. The last star is right outside our door. Shoulders sagging, I open the door, and the silver light vanishes.

My spell wasn’t tracing _him_ at all. It was just tracing me, the person who held the flower first, who spelled it into existence in this very room. (I eventually managed to get the spell to work this morning, after Baz left.) Maybe the spell wasn’t even tracing me, but just taking me back to where the rose came from.

Baz is in his bed with his covers up to his chin and his face turned away from me. I have no idea if he’s asleep. I don’t even think he was at the ball.

I want to take it out on him. Shake him awake and demand to know – what? Demand that he help me. Demand to know why he wasn’t at the ball.

Instead, I toss the flower on the nightstand, and I go to sleep.


	7. Day 18. Stuck in a room together

SIMON

Ms Avery, the librarian, looks surprised at my request.

‘Revealing spells? For someone who doesn’t want you to know who they are?’

‘Exactly,’ I say.

Penny said I might find some clues in some of the less obvious places in the library, but I have no idea where to start. I figured asking Ms Avery would be more useful than wandering around by myself.

‘It’d have to be powerful,’ says Ms Avery, ‘if they don’t want to be found.’ She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Should you really be doing this? I won’t pry, but…’

I shrug instead of answering.

‘Well, okay,’ she says. ‘I might have a few ideas.’

She types something into her computer, squints at the screen and then leads me through the rows of books to a spot in the back corner.

‘You’ll find what you’re looking for in this section,’ she says, then pulls one out. ‘Maybe try this one. I’m not sure you’d be able to pull this off at an eighth year level, I have to say.’

She winces as she says it, so I know she means she’s not sure an eighth year, _especially me_ , could pull it off.

I shrug again.

‘Alright, I’ll leave you to it,’ she says.

‘Wait, what about fairy tales? Or why a spell from a fairy tale wouldn’t work? Or how could I know if it did work?’

‘Hm,’ she says. ‘You might want to look at some older texts for that.’ She points me in the direction of a little storeroom at the back of the library. She pulls an old-fashioned clip out of her hair and uses it to spell the door open.

‘Thanks,’ I say, stepping into the room.

She holds the door open. ‘What you’re looking for might be on the top shelf there,’ she says, pointing with one hand and returning her clip with the other. ‘But just be careful, a few of those encyclopedias there have a tendency to try to escape when no-one’s around, so the door won’t open from the inside. Make sure you close it on your way out, though.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

She uses her foot to wedge a wooden doorstop underneath the door, so it doesn’t close all the way. After she leaves I turn to look at the room. It’s small, just enough space for shelves along two walls and a desk no bigger than the ones we have in the classrooms along the third wall, and then the door. I turn back to the books on the shelf Ms Avery pointed at. I stare at them, reading the faded titles on their spines.

None of the titles jumps out at me, so I choose one randomly and set it on the table. I open it to the first page, already thinking that I’m wasting my time.

But I can’t give up, not until I’ve done everything I can to find him and convince him to give me a chance.

 

BAZ

Snow is gone by the time I wake up in the morning. I try not to dwell too much on what he might be doing with his early start. Hopefully wallowing in disappointment and pining for me. Hopefully not about to figure out who I am.

I roll over, and the first thing I see is his flower – _my_ flower – still sitting on the nightstand. I heard him running up the stairs last night, and I saw the silver glow, so I can guess what happened. The fact that Snow didn’t throw anything at me – Anathema be damned – shows that he obviously hasn’t come to the right conclusion yet. Hard to see how he could have missed it, given that I was right there, but that’s Snow for you.

I skip breakfast. I have no desire to see him again after last night, after he looked into my eyes the exact way he has countless times in my dreams. Instead, I go to the library, hoping for someplace that doesn’t smell like Snow or decaying rats (that doesn’t leave me any of my usual options).

Of course, as soon as I get there I spot Snow in one of the storerooms at the back. It wouldn’t be my life if it was this easy to escape him. It also wouldn’t be Snow if he was giving up on finding T that easily.

It almost knocks me over, realising how much he actually cares. If I thought I could show up for one romantic night and disappear forever and have him forget all about me, I was wrong. He’s not going to forget. I wasn’t just someone who happened to be there at the right time to give him a break from everything.

I don’t know what to do with this knowledge. I can hardly announce myself as T and have him forgive everything I’ve done to him for the person I was online.

I can’t break his heart like that, either.

I step into the room behind him, kicking the doorstop out of the way so he’ll hear me coming, and cross my arms, leaning against the door.

‘Shouldn’t the Chosen One be at breakfast?’ I say, sneering.

 

SIMON

I startle when Baz speaks, the book dropping from my hands.

‘Great,’ I snap. ‘Now you’ve made me lose my place.’

‘How terrible,’ Baz drawls. ‘It must have taken you hours to read those five pages.’

I growl at him. I only got here ten minutes ago, but I don’t owe him an explanation. He can think whatever he wants.

‘Why are you here?’

‘To bother you, obviously,’ Baz says. ‘Or to plot your demise. Whichever works better for you.’

I roll my eyes. ‘For once could you just…’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘Just _not_ ,’ I snap. ‘Just not get in my way and ruin everything. This is important, okay?’

‘What’s so important?’ he asks. I’m probably imagining that his voice has gone softer.

‘Nothing.’

It’s Baz’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘Clearly.’

‘Could you just leave?’ I say through gritted teeth.

He stares at me for a long moment. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. (I can never tell what he’s thinking.)

‘Fine,’ he says, and reaches for the door handle. It doesn’t turn. He tries again. ‘Snow, what the fuck?’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘The door doesn’t open from the inside.’

He turns around to glare at me. ‘And you couldn’t have warned me?’

‘You came in before I could!’

He doesn’t stop glaring. He pulls out his wand and tries to spell the door unlocked. It doesn’t work.

I gulp. ‘I think only the librarian can do it.’

He puts his wand away and knocks on the door sharply. He tries again, but no-one comes. With a heavy sigh, Baz sinks down and sits cross-legged on the floor, facing me. I turn away and open the book again.

‘Who were you dancing with last night?’ Baz asks abruptly.

‘What?’ I look up from the book.

‘Who was it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I mumble. I turn a page, but I’m not registering anything. Sighing, I close the book and sink down to the floor in front of Baz.

‘You don’t know?’ he sneers.

‘No,’ I snap. ‘Look, I – that’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to figure it out.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Right.’

I know I’m blushing furiously. ‘I know it sounds stupid. You won’t get it.’

He sweeps his arm towards the locked door. ‘We have time. Enlighten me.’

I shake my head.

‘Is it your secret email admirer?’ His tone is mocking. Of course it is. How does he even know about T? (I guess I’m not subtle. I’m never subtle.)

 ‘I – I – yes,’ I stammer.

‘And the flowers were for him too?’

 

BAZ

Fuck. I shouldn’t even have said ‘him’. How would I know that, if I’d only seen him underneath the mask? (Though it would have had to be a very tall girl.)

‘Yes,’ Snow mutters, his face flaming bright red. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

‘How romantic,’ I say. I can’t seem to drop this derisive tone. Let him think I think this whole thing is pathetic.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he says.

I pretend that doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut. I laugh. ‘But you don’t know who he is.’ I shift closer to him. Our knees are almost touching.

Snow shakes his head silently.

 

SIMON

I want to punch him. Or go off on him, but then I’d probably take out all of Ms Avery’s precious old books too. There’s no room to move, and nowhere to look except him. His eyes. The greyness of them – grey that’s dark blue and green and oceans and stormy skies and everything in between.

 

BAZ

‘So you’ve danced with him, and you talk to him, but you don’t know his name.’

Snow is glaring at me. I lean forward. (I shouldn’t. This is dangerous.)

‘Doesn’t that strike you as a little bit suspicious?’ I say. ‘He sounds like a tosser, if he won’t even show his face to you.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Snow snaps. ‘Don’t talk about him like that.’

‘What’s he so scared of?’ I continue. (Playing with fire.) His blue eyes blaze into mine. (I want to dance with him again.) ‘Why doesn’t he want you to know who he is? Maybe he has something to be ashamed of. Maybe he’s some fucked-up –’

‘Shut up,’ he growls. ‘He’s not. He’s amazing.’

My breath catches. I turn it into a smirk. ‘You don’t even know who he is.’

‘I do. I know him.’

I shake my head. Snow’s stare is determined, defiant, like nothing could shake him. Maybe not even me.

I breathe out slowly. ‘What if you found out he was someone you hated?’

‘I wouldn’t.’ His knees press against mine. ‘I _know_ him. I wouldn’t hate him.’

I feel myself tipping forward, like I’ve jumped off this cliff and now it’s too late to turn back and gravity will get me no matter what I do next. Snow’s gaze is intense, and he’s not leaning away from me, no matter how close I get.

‘Do you promise?’ I whisper.

 

SIMON

_Grey eyes…_

It can’t be.

 

BAZ

There’s a flash of light and we startle apart.

‘Simon?’ calls Ms Avery. ‘Are you still in there?’

The door opens. Snow blinks.

‘Sorry, Ms Avery,’ he stammers. ‘I – we were just leaving.’

He abandons the book on the desk and rushes past her. I realise my hands are shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, next chapter is supposed to go up tomorrow but I won't have internet access, and (as far as I know) I can't schedule AO3 posts. So, you'll either have to wait a few days, or you can check my Tumblr (same URL) to find the update.


	8. Day 19. Late night/early morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

SIMON

I can’t sleep.

Baz has his back to me as usual, and I’m trying not to think about anything, but I’m still wide awake.

I don’t think it’s him. It can’t be him. But ever since I had the thought, I haven’t been able to shake it off.

It’s just the eyes. My mind is telling me they’re the same eyes, that I’d never forget those eyes or how I felt when I looked at them, but I know the mask was disguising him when I saw him at the ball and it could just as easily be my imagination. Like maybe I’m so desperate to know who it is that I’m projecting Baz onto him because then at least I’ll know and he’ll be someone real.

But if it is him… if it is…

I roll over again with a sigh, turning to face the wall.

It’s not him. He would never have danced with me. He wouldn’t have let me pin a flower to his –

I sit up so fast I get dizzy.

The fucking flower. I used Penny’s Cinderella spell and traced it back to this room. Where Baz was sleeping. Or maybe not sleeping after all.

 

BAZ

‘Tyrannus.’

I freeze.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t sleeping, or Snow’s outburst would have woken me. His voice cuts through the darkness, impossibly loud in the silence of the dead of night. It must be long past midnight by now.

‘Baz. Tyrannus. Wake up.’

I open my eyes, but don’t turn to face him.

‘Why the fuck are you calling me that?’ I ask, even though I know.

‘It’s your name, isn’t it?’

I heave a massive sigh – and hope he doesn’t notice how shaky it sounds – and turn to him.

‘Of course it’s my name, but you’ve never called me that before.’

‘Well, no,’ he says. For once he’s not stammering. He’s sitting up in bed, the covers bunched up at the end like he threw them off in a hurry. He’s staring at me like… I don’t know. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I sit up with a sneer. ‘Alright, Snow. What time is it, and why have you woken me up?’

‘I know it’s you,’ he says.

‘You’re going to have to be more specific.’

His stare doesn’t waver. ‘You’re T.’

I stay silent. What’s the point of denying it now?

‘Tyrannus,’ he says again.

And it feels so fucking weird. Hearing my first name come out of his mouth. It takes me a moment to realise both hands are clutching the end of my blanket, twisting it, and I let go.

He may know I’m T, but he still doesn’t know about the rest of it.

‘Fine,’ I say. I cross my arms. ‘I’m T.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Why the fuck do you think?’

He shrugs. ‘Because you liked S, but you don’t like me.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t.’

‘But why did you come to the dance once you knew it was me?’

I shrug (a move I learned from him, which irks me), and look away.

He leans forward. ‘Did you just do it to mess with me? Was it some plot of yours?’

I could punch him right now. ‘If that’s what you think, then we’re done here.’ I stand up.

He scrambles to his feet, just stopping himself from grabbing my arm. ‘No, I – no. I was just checking.’

I sit back down. (There’s not enough space between our beds for both of us to stand there without it being unbearable.)

‘No,’ I say, crossing my arms again. ‘It wasn’t a plot. I didn’t know it was you until you sent me your picture.’

Snow sits too so he’s facing me, though instead of crossing his arms, his hands fidget in his lap.

‘Okay,’ he says, ducking his head. Briefly I imagine how his bronze curls felt brushing against my face.

‘So?’ I say. ‘Is that all?’

‘No,’ he growls. ‘You never answered my question. Why did you come to the dance?’

‘Does it matter? You know who I am now. No matter what you said, I’m still your evil vampire nemesis, and you do hate me. So I think we’re done here.’

I go to stand up again, but Snow beats me to it, and then his hands are on my wrists pushing me back down and he’s hovering over me and I can feel the magic like little bolts of electricity sparking against my skin.

‘We’re not done,’ he says, and then he kisses me.


	9. Day 24. Stars

SIMON

I don’t expect him to kiss me back. I don’t even know why I did it, except that he danced with me and he held me and he asked me if I would promise not to hate him, and he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care, if he didn’t want anything from this.

But he’s still Baz, so he doesn’t kiss me back. He doesn’t push me away either, or move his hands out from under mine, and now that I’ve already kissed him I couldn’t possibly make this any more mortifying than I already have, so I tilt my chin and move my lips against his, somehow still hoping he might respond.

But he doesn’t, so I pull back.

 

BAZ

‘Sorry,’ he gasps, pulling away, his hands falling from mine. I don’t have to look up to know that his face is burning. I should say something, or move, but every one of my limbs is frozen. (I’m not even breathing. Who needs air when Simon Snow just kissed me?)

Maybe I underestimated him. Maybe I underestimated what we had.

 

SIMON

Only then do I realise that Baz’s eyes are closed. (I was too busy to notice, before.) They’re _still_ closed. It takes me another moment to realise I’m staring, at his raven-black hair that I want to run my hands through, at the crook of his nose, at his parted lips. How have I never seen this before? (That he looks ethereal and I want to kiss him.) (Again.)

He opens his eyes.

‘Don’t,’ he says.

I drop my gaze. ‘I’m s-’

‘Don’t apologise,’ he says, and reaches forward, grabbing me by the collar of my pyjamas. ‘Not for that.’ He kisses me once on my cheek. ‘Ever.’ Once over my left eye. (I think there’s a mole there.) ‘ _Ever._ ’

‘Okay,’ I say, and I pull his mouth back over mine.

 

BAZ

I’m seeing stars.

I don’t know how long we’ve been lying on his bed, snogging, but –

_Oh_. I’m literally seeing stars.

‘Snow,’ I say.

‘What.’ He tugs at my hair.

‘Snow, look.’ I duck my head back out of his reach and he follows my gaze. His eyes widen when he sees it – the room around us is gone, replaced instead by an endless night sky full of silver stars. We’re surrounded by them, and though I can still feel the bed and I’m fairly sure we haven’t gone anywhere, it feels like we’re up in space.

‘Is that – did you do that?’ he asks, breathless. (I don’t know if that’s from the stars, or the snogging.) (I hope it’s the snogging.)

‘No,’ I say. ‘You’re the one with the uncontrollable magic.’

‘I didn’t realise I was doing it,’ he says.

‘I know,’ I say, smiling as I pull him back to me.

 

SIMON

They look just like the stars that led me to Baz that night.


	10. Day 27. Snowy day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! Thank you for reading!! I love you and all the comments give me life so thank you xx

SIMON

‘Snow.’

‘Call me Simon,’ I say without looking up.

‘No – Snow.’

I ignore him.

He sighs. ‘There’s _snow_. Outside the window. Look.’

I drop my pen and rush to join Baz at the window, shoving him aside to get a better view. There’s a light dusting of snow already coating the rooftops of the other Watford buildings. I shove the window open and lean out.

‘Get back in,’ says Baz, tugging at my arm. ‘You’ll freeze to death.’

I ignore him, leaning out further and sticking out a hand. I catch a snowflake, the cold stinging my palm, and duck back inside. Then, before I have a second to think about the consequences, I pour the now-slush in my hand down the back of Baz’s shirt, and he yelps.

‘What the fuck,’ he says, hands grappling uselessly at his back. I laugh. ‘Snow,’ he growls, reaching for me.

‘Anathema!’ I yelp, dodging out of his grasp.

Baz swipes at my arm again and I run across the room. I turn around once I get to the opposite wall, only to realise he hasn’t even been chasing me. He’s reaching out the window, palm up to the skies. Before I can think to defend myself, he whirls around and chucks a handful of icy slush at my face.

‘Hey,’ I splutter, wiping my face off with my sleeve. Icy water drips off my eyelashes. ‘That was uncalled for.’

‘It was very much called for,’ Baz insists. ‘I’m cold and my shirt is soaked.’

I grin. ‘Then take it off.’

He rolls his eyes, but I know he’d be blushing if he could.

‘Nope,’ he says, stepping forward and taking my hand. ‘We’re going to settle this. Snow versus Pitch, once and for all.’

‘What do you mean?’

He smirks. ‘Snowball fight.’

 

BAZ

I regret it as soon as we step outside into the cold, but of course I can’t let Snow see that. I keep a firm grip on his hand until we get to the Great Lawn, where there’s a thin layer of snow.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asks. He’s grinning, the git. ‘I don’t get cold as easily as you do, you know.’

‘I know.’ I bend down and scoop up a handful of snow. It slips through my fingers.

He laughs.

I try again, this time spelling the snow so it forms into a perfect snowball.

‘Hey, no magic,’ Snow pouts. ‘That’s cheating.’

Instead of answering, I chuck the snowball towards his chest.

And then all hell breaks loose.

 

SIMON

There’s water in my hair, ice down my back, and sludge in my shoes, but neither of us stops. Baz keeps pulling out his wand when he thinks I’m not looking, spelling his snowballs firm. Or maybe he knows I’m looking, and just doesn’t care. I realise I’m losing and forget about the snow, charging straight for him with my arms outstretched.

I end up with the front of his shirt bunched up in my fist, while he has the tip of his wand at my throat, both of us panting and covered in slush. We glare at each other.

Baz’s lips twitch.

‘What?’

‘What?’ he echoes.

‘You’re laughing.’

He shakes his head. Then he laughs. A drop of water falls down his nose.

‘What?’ I repeat.

‘Look at us,’ he says. ‘This is how we were supposed to end up.’

My fist over his heart. His wand at my throat.

I smile. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But we’re not fighting. And you woke up in my arms.’

‘I know,’ he says.

He tips his head forward.

Our noses brush.

I close my eyes.

‘Surrender,’ he whispers.

My eyes fly open. ‘Never.’

And we carry on.


End file.
